Everybody's Villain
by Reincarnated Poet
Summary: Not the Hero Sequel. Zee has run, confusion spurring her away from the boys. The universe might have something else to say about that, considering the black magic ritual used to seal away Zee's ghost brought something else to the surface.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Unfortunately, I let Everybody's Villain sort of die, mostly because I wasn't enjoying the writing style or the plot line that I'd made for it. I took a good, long break trying to give it a second chance, but really, it wasn't working. I'm going to keep a lot of the same themes/ideas, but I'm rewriting the entire piece. I'm going to try and get back to the more observatory style that you all seemed to like in Not the Hero.

**CHAPTER ZERO: BEING THE BAD GUY**  
**-THREE DAYS POST BIG DAMN SCREW UP-**

Not sure what's going on anymore.

Been on the road for a few days. Never thought it'd be this hard to run away. In the movies they always show some kid finding a hot dog cart to steal from and a nice abandoned industrial building to hole up in until everything blows over. Three days post what she was considering the end of just fucking everything, and she was already thinking about...Well, I need to find a hot dog cart.

What a load of shit.

Didn't really think it through very well. Had that meal card all set up and ready. Could have packed a lunch box while the boys worked on killing-

Bad road, that. Bad road. Dark road. Don't come back from that road.

Fell asleep on a park bench the other day. An old lady left me a sack lunch, but I've got to figure this shit out. _Get your act together kid. Can't go through life with your head up your ass. _

Thanks, Coach.

Mar glared across the street at a little mom and pop coffee shop that she'd been watching for the past two days. She'd seen the little old man come and go, and it was so slow now that...

_Gonna steal from a little old man, Mar? _Shut up.

_Real classy, Zee-zee. And you gave me shit. _God, just shut up.

_Don't do this. You're better than this. _Yeah, I used to be.

_Can't believe you'd do something so stupid_. Like you have room to talk, you murdering-

_Do it. Want to see you do it. _

Mar pushed up off of the bench, watching as the last of the lunch crowd disappeared down the street. The little door bell rang as she tugged on the door, and inside, a wall of coffee and baked goods assailed her nose. There was no chipper or eager barista asking for her order. There was no little old man, either, which was all the better.

She eyed the old fashioned cash register that sat up front on a wooden counter. It was flat black, with a large lever that she'd seen in the movies. She stood at the counter a long moment, staring at the lever that would change everything. A lever that would -

Jesus H. Christ! Mar nearly ran out the door at the clatter and groan that came from back in the kitchen.

_Just take it and go. _

_Yeah, because she's going to listen to anything-_

"Shut up!" She screamed, shaking her head and looking quickly between the register and the kitchen. Oh, son of a...fine. She jumped the counter and pushed her way through the double doors into the kitchen.

"Hello?" She called, taking in the spilled tray of muffins strewn across the floor. A little ways off, the old man lay, trying to push himself up using his cane.

"Can you..." He trailed off, gesturing toward the muffins. She ignored him, and gripped his shoulder, heaving him to his feet. He was a tall man, old and bent with age, but as he straightened up to crack his back, she could see what he might have been, once upon a time. He smiled down at her in that fatherly way she'd seen her own dad do time and time again. "Not as easy to get the trays from the oven with a cane." He said, shaking his head.

_And this is the old guy you were going to steal from. _She ignored the voice in her head, the voice that sounded remarkably like-bad road.

"You shouldn't be trying to lift things with one arm while using a cane," she said, stooping down to gather the muffins he'd dropped and toss them into the bin.

"No one here to do it but me," he said. "Unless you're looking for a job?" He asked with a half hearted laugh.

_Yahtzee. _Zee's head snapped up.

"Yes, I am," she said, standing up with the tray in her hands. "I don't know much about coffee shops-"

"There's not much to know about this coffee shop. This isn't Starbucks," he said, eyeing her up and down. "If you were to work here, there'd be no-"

"I'm in," she said quickly. "I mean...if you were serious about a job." She fidgeted under his gaze. He seemed to see through everything.

"Come on," he said. "I'm Arnold. I was about to have lunch, and then we can get these other trays into the case out front."

_It's gonna get better, Zee-zee. _

God, just shut up.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER ONE: PSYCHOSIS UNWRITTEN **

**SIX MONTHS POST BIG DAMN SCREW UP**

Zee leaned against the counter, drawing circles against the grain of the wood with her finger. Coffee shops had to be the most boring places in existance outside of normal meal hours.

_You're not bored. You're tired._

I'm not tired, mind your own business.

_You haven't slept in three days. _

Because you're such an expert on my sleep patterns.

_I'm the only expert on your sleep patterns._

Fuck. Off. I'm just bored.

"Marietta?" Jesus H. Christ, didn't I tell him? How many times have I told him? Zee. Mar. Anything but Marietta.

"Yes, Arnold?" Don't tell the old man to fuck himself. Don't tell the old man to fuck himself. Don't tell-

"The turnovers should be done," Arnold said easily, staring at her a long moment before giving her a heartbroken little sigh and walking back down the hall to his office. Oh, turnovers...

_What are you so afraid of? I was the worst monster you could find waiting when you closed your eyes, and I'm gone._

You weren't a monster, you just-

_I was the worst thing, Zee. You saw it, so what could be so terrifying? _

Just leave me alone. Look, turnovers. God, turnovers. Arnold won't notice if one just-

"Get those in the case, Marietta, and then we can split one," Arnold called into the kitchen. God, I do love you, you wrinkled old kermudgeon.

She slid the tray into the case, plucking a particularly oozing turnover from the case and licking the strawberry filling from her fingers. Working in a coffee shop was hell on her figure, but her pocket book kept her fridge empty enough that it didn't matter. At least she had a fridge now.

"Here, you go, Arnold," Mar said, sliding half the turnover onto a napkin on his desk. She sat down heavily in the chair across from him, taking a bite and blowing puffs of air as the filling scalded her tongue.

"You could wait just a moment," Arnold said.

"Worth it," she huffed before swallowing. "So very worth it." They sat in silence for a long while, both eating their turnovers with a reverence that shouldn't be devoted to food.

"The apartment to your liking?" Arnold asked after a while.

"I keep forgetting there's a step down from the bedroom to the kitchen," Zee said easily. "I've fallen three times since I moved in."

"At least there's been four days where you managed to keep your footing," Arnold teased. "You like it well enough, though?"

"Of course," Zee said, picking at the last few crumbs from her napkin. "It's my first apartment. It could be a box and it would be fantastic."

"You go grocery shopping?" Arnold asked, eyeing her in a way that she'd seen her own father eye her when he knew she was about to lie. Mar just glanced up at him, trying not to smile. "Take one of the sandwiches for your dinner tonight."

"I have food," Mar lied quickly. The old man just frowned at her and shook his head with a sigh.

"There'll be bread dough to make tonight, after closing, if you'd like a few extra hours." Zee nodded before leaving his office.

**-Psychosis Unwritten-**

Caleb sighed, scratching at the back of his neck as he slid his feet off of the side of the bed. He stood up unsteadily, throwing his covers back over his bed before padding quietly out of the room and down the stairs. The hard wood floor was warm in the hall, flooded with sunlight as it came through the glass door. The morning paper lay just inside, and he stooped with a sigh to pick it up.

"Ugh," he groaned as he straightened, back cracking loudly.

Nothing crossed his mind until he settled down on a stool in the kitchen, scratching at his chest aimlessly. The coffee maker was still gurgling, and he glared across at it until the dripping stopped and he could pour his first cup. Coffee in hand and a bagel in the toaster, he opened the paper with a happy sigh. There was something to be said for rituals, mundane or otherwise.

He skimmed the funnies, because his brain couldn't handle any of the actual articles without at least two cups of coffee in his system. Beetle Bailey had done something ridiculous again, and he snickered as he spread peanut butter over his still too hot bagel and sipped at his liquid gold. Provisions in hand, he flipped to the front of the paper to read through as methodically as he did every morning.

There was an article about the start of some new money war or another on Wall Street. A village in an African country that he couldn't recall the geographical location to had been attacked by religious supremacists. The further back into the paper he got, the fluffier the stories, and if he was being honest with himself, he needed that fluff. The summer had come and gone quickly, and his first semester of college had been a reality check.

Pogue told him that it was stress. Tyler ignored it. Reid laughed and welcomed him down from Olympus.

Caleb Danvers had failed his first class. Chem 101. He'd taken Honors Chemistry in high school. He'd covered all the material. He already knew it, and still...

59.7%. Professor (call me doctor) Collins-and there was no irony lost on Caleb there-had refused to give him the seven points it would take to bump his grade to a 60%. A piss poor attempt, but it would have maintained his scholarship. Harvard frowned on failing grades.

A story about some high school student caught his eye for a moment, but it was the article below that that kept his attention.

_Gretta's Cafe is back on the map in a way that has the nostalgic in the greater Boston area dabbing at their eyes. Gretta's Napkin letters are back with a modern flare and a sharper tongue. Keep an eye out for the lady-friendly articles every Tuesday. _

It wasn't so much the cafe or the words that followed. It was the cadence, the tone and the word choice.

_Because he was golden and he was every facet of every responsibility that he had on his shoulders. Shoulders that were too heavy. Shoulders that weren't quite as broad as they looked. Shoulders that took on responsibility where they shouldn't have. Those shoulders picked me up, carried me as if on the wind, and then, when I least felt my feet beneath me, fell away and were simply no longer there. He was Legion. He was many. He was too many, and maybe it was the faith I placed in him that broke his careful balance and let everything tumble to the ground._

It wasn't his name, but it was his _name._ Something that he'd heard from disappeared lips so many times that it felt like home. His coffee sat acrid against his teeth. He made himself swallow against the now too bitter taste as he fumbled to stand up and grope through the pile of discarded newspapers on the end of the counter. The maid only came on Fridays, and he was a creature of habit. The week's worth of newspaper sat at the end of the counter until she came to collect it and take it to recycle.

Four papers settled on the table, all flipped back to the last few pages, where similar announcements were made. Only two others had these so called "Napkin Letters" but it wasn't a settling feeling. Fitzwilliam wasn't Mr. Darcy, but it was close enough for discomfort, and Goldfish was what she'd called Reid so many times that he'd almost adopted the nickname.

Caleb settled down onto his stool again, sinking his head into his hands.

"Fuck," he murmured into the kitchen.

**-Psychosis Unwritten-**

_What the actual fuck are you doing?_

Shut up. It helps. I haven't written anything in-

_But why in the hell would you want to write about them?_

I wrote about you as well.

_But you're practically waxing lyrical over-_

Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!

_I remember you being more mature than this._

Before I was seeing you and hearing you. Just having you in my head is seriously damaging my calm. Just please, be quiet.

Mar stared blankly down at the notebook in front of her. Somewhere along the line, the page had filled up and Chase had started picking at the back of her mind. It started after she'd left Ipswich, and the more she thought about them, the louder their voices in her head. For a few days, she'd thought about checking herself into a nut house. She might have, if she'd not seen everything she'd seen. She sighed, pushing the notebook away and standing up from the small desk in the corner of her smaller apartment. Catching the step just before she stumbled down it, she rubbed at her wrists. They ached, burned really. She'd been writing longer than she'd thought, but then...

God, that burns.

She rubbed at her elbows, up into her shoulders and down across her ribs and chest. Defined, burning lines criss-crossed her skin, down her hips and around her legs to her feet.

_Chase?_ She called in her mind, but the man was oddly silent. God...

She was on fire. Surely, this was death, this agonizing fire searing across her flesh. She stumbled to the bathroom, threw the shower on and stepped beneath the freezing spray. Goose flesh raised along her arms, and still she burned on. Dark, blistering lines ran in familiar whorls and swirls up her hands and arms. She'd seen them before. How could she forget those sworls?

_Pogue?_ She called in her mind, but she couldn't hear anyone respond over the screaming.

She woke up in the bottom of the shower, body aching and sore, but the burning had stopped.

_God, Zee, I swear I didn't..._

_Shut up. She doesn't need you here._

"Stop," she murmured into the water. She didn't have the strength to sit upright and turn off the spray. "Please, just stop," she begged again, and silence followed.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER TWO: NAPKIN LETTERS PART I**

**SIX MONTHS POST BIG DAMN SCREW UP TO SEVEN MONTHS POST BIG DAMN SCREW UP**

_Some men are like birds, preening and primping in the sunlight, drawing attention with flashing colors and sharp cries. Others are like wolves, dangerous and sharp, strong in their own group but weak alone, just not enough on their own. I had never met a man that was a fish before him, and I will never meet another of his like. Love like a river. Feeling like an ocean. Air made up of love. In those moments, when someone was there, and whole and loved him, he could breath. He drew breath and just shined, sending the sun off of his scales in glistening shimmers of golds and oranges and yellows. _

_When he was alone, he drown. He suffocated. He gasped for air, his eyes growing dim, his balance uneven. He couldn't swim straight and he floundered, trying to eek out an existence until someone else came along. Someone else brought him air and life and love. I used to make him shine like that. Is it wrong to hope he's drowning? _

-Napkin Letters-

_He was a wall. An unforgiving wall._

_He used to protect, standing between myself and the world, and wasn't it just the most comforting thing to have him there? Always there, stalwart and strong and just enough of a danger to be truly able. I didn't really know how much I relied on that quiet strength until it was turned against me. _

_Until I threw myself against that wall, and it took my weight, un-moving and unforgiving, and turned me away. Until that wall kept me from what was mine. Until it took its own will and imposed it upon the world around it. And wasn't that what that very wall had done all along? _

_Wasn't its protection just another barrier? a hindrance to some other force? _

_He was a wall. An un-forgiven wall. _

-Napkin Letters-

_I trusted him more than I should have, more than anyone should. Because he was golden and he was every facet of responsibility. I trusted him because if you couldn't trust such an all encompassing thing, such a limitless capacity, what could you ever really trust? And because of that trust, he was simply no longer what he'd been. _

_Because he was golden and he was every facet of every responsibility that he had upon his shoulders. Shoulders that were too heavy. Shoulders that weren't quite as broad as they looked. Shoulders that took responsibility where they shouldn't have. Those shoulders picked me up, carried me as if on the wind, and then, when I least felt my feet beneath me, fell away and were simply no longer there. He was Legion. He was many. He was too many, and maybe it was the faith I placed in him that broke his careful balance and let everything tumble to the ground. _

_Maybe he hates me for that, for breaking his carefully balanced world down around his ears. Wouldn't that be something? Then again, maybe I hate him, for doing the same to me._

-Napkin Letters-

_Fitzwilliam is a stiff name, full of pomp and circumstance, and that's what he was, too cool and stiff. Like an icicle in the dead of winder, with some small creature at its heart, a fly that had held out through winter long enough to land in the wrong bit of ice for just too long. Just like that icicle, he thaws, and that fly falls to the ground, where the sun can warm it. It will never live again. _

_Sometimes I wonder if he caught me in that ice, that chill and suspension of life. Am I laying on the ground, dead but warmed by the sun? Am I alive? _

_If I am, maybe I was never really caught in the chill of him, the promise of warmth of him. Maybe I just buzzed by, appreciating the crystaline beauty of the ice and moved on. _

_Maybe I'm dead though. It's that I'm not really sure that is the true tragedy. _


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes: Read, I am important. Hey guys. Been a while, and as such, this chapter has a bit of work done for it. Some bits and pieces are repeated from the previous chapter, but there was really no way to not repeat them. Anyway, enjoy. This story is completely finished and as such you will be getting very frequent updates. Tah!**

Touches, both light and forceful, vague and specific, sliding along skin slicked with something that's not really there. Awkwardly sensual with a degree of cold force. At first, she couldn't really remember where she'd had that feeling before. It happened that morning, and again, later when she was at work. Fingers touching, dragging across skin before skidding along. It was...difficult to cope with, and for a moment, she felt pain. Heat, radiating and burning, consuming and destroying, eating up delicate skin. She panicked, the burning becoming almost more than she could handle, and in that moment, she bolted for the bathroom, throwing the water on cold, and she'd settled, both burning and freezing, in the bottom of the bathtub.

Reid Garwin missed things in his life. He missed using. He missed being able to do whatever he wanted. He missed high school. He missed her more though. For some reason, the people in his life had always come and gone quickly, never staying for more than a few months before disappearing. That was, if they were going to disappear. Zee was no exception. She came into his life like something he wasn't sure had ever existed for him. She was a friend, a confidant, someone he could laugh with, talk to. Now she was nothing, and he missed it. Tyler had been so sullen and despondent, feigning disinterest in the girl's disappearance because he was hurt, that he couldn't even talk to him anymore.

On more than one occasion he'd debated saying fuck it, and just finding her. Couldn't hurt that much right? He could just look for her, and then go physically. Just a quick use of power and that would be it. Then he would catch his own reflection in the mirror. He'd ascended, three days before they'd tied Chase down and sent him to hell. And in those three day's he hadn't used, not once. He was proud, he wasn't addicted, and then, Caleb had asked him. Asked him, to do something for him. So he had, and now, now there was an itching at the back of his mind, and a sweat between his shoulders that hadn't been there before. His face wasn't old, but it was most definitely not as young as it had been. Where before there was smooth skin with just peach fuzz for hair, now a thick stubble ran along his jaw. The corners of his eyes had little lines around them when he smiled, and it was more difficult to meet that appearance, and still use.

So, he hunkered down in front of the computer of all things, and typed in her name. And he waited. And he waited. And he hit the search button again just to be sure. And he waited. And he waited. And he checked the spelling and hit search again. And waiting. And he...Finally!

There were dozens of articles that actually pertained to his Marietta, and then there were others, that had absolutely nothing to do with her. A girl with the same last name. A girl with the same first name. A girl who used to have her last name, but was married. A girl who married to have the last name. It was the articles about her that made him smile. They were all little things, blurbs in her local newspapers about her pitching, honor role, high honor role, National Honor Society, and a young Author's award. He followed the link to the author's award, and read the story he found there. It was good, written when she was a freshman in high school. Awkwardly similar to the way she spoke. He smiled and saved the link to the desktop before hitting the back button on his browser.

Five minutes later he followed a newer link, just two weeks old. And he waited. And he waited.

Reid Garwin watched as the little loading bar skittered across the bottom of the screen. A few more seconds, and the world would be a better place, just a few more seconds and he wouldn't want to toss the damn computer off of the face of the earth. And there it went.

He took a breath and skimmed through the article. It was less than difficult to understand the worlds that were stretched across the screen, but more than difficult to accept them. There, in a newspaper out of Boston-Boston of all places-was an announcement of the addition of a writer to the paper. Just a little thing, with a tiny little picture on the screen. He clicked on it, waiting...and waiting...he clicked again...why were computers so slow? When the image finally loaded, full screen and brazenly staring at him, something bubbled up in his stomach. There she was, hair cropped shorter than he remembered, just above her chin, defiant eyes staring back at him. She was smiling in the picture, but not really smiling. It was what she did when she knew she should be smiling.

It had a sample of her work, again, something that sounded just like her. She would be writing a column of "Napkin Letters". Something stupid and mushy for the women. He rolled his eyes. It didn't really sound like her at all. It was a bit freeing, seeing her there, alive, and well, but it did something to his stomach. She'd been that close? Less than an hour's drive away, and none of them had sense her? Then again, he reasoned, none of them had been looking. Reid had thought maybe Tyler...Apparently he'd thought wrong. Slowly realization dawned on him. They'd searched Boston, or rather, Tyler had searched Boston. They'd been assigned different directions, Caleb south, Reid west, Pogue had searched Ipswich and east. Tyler had gone north, toward Boston. Had the son simply missed her? Had she just moved to the area? Had he looked at all? It was a question worth asking. Now that he knew where she was, there was another question worth asking. Did he find her? Did he tell Caleb, or Tyler, or Pogue? Whose job would it be to bring her back? Should they bring her back at all?

He almost regretted what he did next. He looked for her pieces in that paper. Less than a week later, there had been another announcement by the paper that she was no longer going to be authoring the column, but someone under the pseudonym "Twain's Childe" was going to be taking over. Anger bubbled up then. Who did this wanna be think they were? Zee could write better than some cheap knock off. Out of some warped sense of kinship he followed the link to the new "Napkin Letters". It only took two to realize who wrote them. Had she not wanted to be associated with the paper? The gossipy column? Then something worse rose up from the white matter in his brain. Had she not wanted to be associated with anything written about them? Something about the thought sat sour in his stomach. His mind rolled over the options, and finally, after passing through the gamut of feelings on the matter, settled on the only possible option: he'd ask her.

With that decision made, it made another. He was going to find her. He was going to Boston. Sitting cross legged on his bed, laptop in front of him, he made the decision. He'd ask his mother to take the Jag. He'd tell the boy's he was going on a family trip, that he'd be back in a week or so. He'd find her, and then he'd decide if he could really do it. If he could really waltz up to her, grin in place, and ask her how the last six months of her life had been. It seemed like a good idea, but it churned something in his stomach to think about actually doing it.

Before he knew it, his hands were reaching out to shut the laptop. He dialed his mother's number-she was on a trip, somewhere in the Bahamas, last he'd checked-and waited for her to answer. For a split moment he caressed the power in his mind, thinking about using it to pack. Stupid. He thought to himself and hoisted a suitcase from under the bed.

"Hello, darling." His mother's voice finally picked up on his third time calling. "What's so wrong that you've called Mommy three times during her massage?"

"I'm taking the Jag upstate for a week." He said without preamble, and the silence that met the other side was deafening. "Mother?" He asked, almost afraid of what she might say next.

"This is why you call me? You don't miss Mommy?" She asked, fake emotion coloring her tone. "Well," she huffed at length, "I suppose. Be careful, darling, and make sure you take it through the wash before you bring it home, I would have it to get mud all over the garage." Reid rolled his eyes and agreed quickly before snapping the phone shut. It really was a waste of his time to talk to that woman about anything other than spending money on the latest furniture design or what color to paint the walls in the parlor. Parlor...who had a parlor these days anyway? In fact, Zee had asked him that once.

He smiled at the memory and packed two pair of jeans and half a dozen shirts in his suitcase before topping it off with something that he had never really thought about: a picture. All of the sons were there, side by side, at Caleb, Pogue, and Reid's graduation. Well, in reality it had been all of their graduations. Tyler, ever the over achiever, had been taking extra classes each year, and had somehow managed to graduate a year early with the rest of them. Reid had dogged him about it endlessly, but Caleb had beamed at the youngest when he showed up at graduation, cap and gown in hand. If Reid were being perfectly honest, he knew why the youngest did it. Life was difficult enough at Spencer when you had a secret, let alone having to do it by himself for a year. Besides, Mar was gone, what point did the youngest have in sticking around Ipswich for another year? That's what he'd said anyway. He'd applied to a whole slew of colleges after that, east coast, west coast, over seas, it didn't matter, if it was somewhere he could distract himself, the youngest applied, and was accepted too.

Reid shouldered the suitcase, grabbed a jacket and the keys to the Jag on his way into the garage, and skipped town faster than a rock over water. Life was going to be interesting over the next few weeks, that he knew for sure. If he found her quickly enough, maybe he could bring her back before everyone left for college. He smirked at the thought of walking down the winding stairs of the colony house with Zee behind him. What would they all say? What would they all do?

Well, Caleb would worry, as he was wont to do. Pogue would stand there, a silly little smile on his face, too cool to act on his feelings. Tyler might storm out, angry that he wasn't asked to come with, or angry with her for leaving. Reid, well, Reid wasn't exactly sure what he'd do in that situation. He'd be proud, that he was sure of. No one could tell him it was wrong, but what would he do the first time he saw her? Even he wasn't sure about that. The Jag revved to life and he leisurely pulled from the garage, cell phone dangling by his ear, ringing faintly as he drove.

"This better be good, Reid." Tyler's annoyed voice faintly echoed through the car. He pressed the phone against his ear. Tyler was pissy.

"I'm heading out of town for a week, just wanted to know if you were interested." He waited-something he found himself growing ever more accustomed to-and when the youngest didn't respond, he waited some more.

"Reid, I'm busy right now-" A giggle in the back ground made Reid frown. "Listen, I'll see you when you get back, alright?" The line went dead before the blonde could respond.

"Oh-kay." Reid drawled, dropping the phone on the passenger seat. He debated a moment, telling Caleb and Pogue he was leaving. The attitude the youngest had made him train his eyes back on the road and a small smile to color his lips. Why share the game anyway? It was more fun alone. Something in the back of his mind made him wonder if it was really the attitude that made him angry, or if it was that giggle. "Either way." He said to himself, and pushed the pedal down. It wasn't a long drive to Boston, but he wasn't in any hurry. After-all he still had to figure out what he was going to say to little old Zee when he found her.

hhh

Tyler Sims wasn't naturally an angry man, or a sad man, or a happy man. In fact, he wasn't much of any one particular type of man. It was the situation that molded him, and at the moment, he was a dirty man. He tossed his cell phone back down into the pile that was his jeans on the floor. The blonde son had become overly needy in the past few months, and he'd be damned if he was going to stop what he was doing to babysit. He looked down with a smile. Especially when what he was doing was so damn talented.

An hour later he picked that same cell phone back up, and hitched his jeans up over his hips. It was three weeks until college started, and he'd promised his mother he'd make a decision this week. He sighed, scrubbing a hand along the stubble at his chin. It wouldn't matter. Either way, he'd take over the family stocks, and whatever education he earned for himself was just icing.

hhh

Marietta sat back on her bed, looking out through the one window in her apartment. It was a beautiful day outside. She hadn't seen one like it in some time. A newspaper sat at her feet, and was blissfully devoid of any writing from anything by a Twain loving idiot. A contented sigh escaped her and she almost floated through her morning routine. As she stood, facing the mirror, towel wrapped around her chest, she ran a finger along the fogged mirror. She was a pale girl by nature, but pink had never been a color that her skin could be described as. In the mirror, through the fog, there were pink whorls and lines, running down her collar bones and across her shoulders. They'd been there before, she knew, and they looked better than they did yesterday. Where they'd come from had first taken her a while to figure out. When she had, she wished she hadn't.

They'd scared her when they'd shown up a week ago. They'd scared her more when she remembered where she'd seen them before. Now the mirror was clearing, and she could see their bounds. She traced a finger over the skin, pink and tender, like a day old burn. A shiver raced down her spine as she checked the rest of them, about a centimeter and a half wide, slightly more narrow in places, slightly wider in others. They were fading, and she wondered if they would scar. Either way, she told herself, either way they would be there forever. In a second she realized she liked them. She hadn't been afraid of the marks since that first day, but now, now she was worried they'd fade away completely.

Her good mood quickly simmered away, like water on to boil too long. Consumed with something she'd never really felt before, she pulled out a thick book of bound white paper and began sketching: free from all angles, hands anterior and posterior, her legs, stomach, arms, and finally she used a mirror to sketch her face, chest, and back. An hour later, she stared down at the sketches. She'd never been overly prone to drawing, but the sketches were clear and definite. She wasn't sure why she'd drawn them, just that she couldn't bare the idea of not having them around someday, if they were to fade completely.

Glancing at the clock, she folded the drawings and tucked them under the corner of her mattress. She would be late if she didn't hurry. Clothes and make-up quickly covered all of the markings but the edges of two lines that ran parallel to her collar bones, and a faint pink swirl on each hand. Satisfied, she wrapped her apron about her waist and left.

The cafe was slow, and as such, so were tips. Mar sighed as she counted out her meager earnings. Arnold was in the back, doing god knows what in his office. The door was closed, a concept that Zee absolutely did not want to think about. Arnold belched, farted, scratched his ass, rearranged his balls, and plucked his nose hair in her presence. She didn't want to think about what he wouldn't do with her less than ten feet away.

Just don't think about it. Yeah, that's the ticket, you have no clue what the old guy is doing in there...Damn it, brain! Damn you! Zee face planted her forehead on the counter in front of her. She stayed that way until the images passed. That is the last time I ever even think about not knowing something. The door opened and Arnold's heavy footfalls could be heard down the hall. She ignored them to the best of her ability.

"Marietta, I need to speak with you." She sat bolt upright, shocked that he'd covered such a distance in such a short amount of time. Old man ninja. She mused.

"Sure." She pivoted, facing the graying man, who quickly started laughing. "What?" I don't sit and laugh about you for no good reason, now do I? Wait, why are you touching me? Dear god, please stop touching me! Rape! Rape! Oh...I had a penny stuck to my forehead? Okay then...Sorry Mister Copper, you can go back to your squad car, nothing to see here.

"Did you know that you're face is incredibly expressive?" He asked, drawing her from her mental ramblings. "Anyway, I'm going out of town for the weekend." He placed a set of keys in front of her. Wait...is this...is this a promotion? Oh, come here you pudgy old man! I love you! "I'm trusting you to open and close on time, and to help things run smoothly while I'm gone. As a reward, if you do well, you can keep the day's profits." Ke-ke-k-k-k-k-eep? Did he just say keep? YAY!

"No problem, Arnold." She quickly picked the keys up, holding them like they were to more than the store front door, as if they were a priceless treasure. "Can I ask why you're going out of town?" She asked, not really paying attention to anything he was saying. Shiny keys...so shiny...am I a crow?

"-and I want to visit her burial site." Wait...what?

"What?" She asked. Oh, don't look at me that way, you plump old man. You know I don't have a very long attention span...you're talking...shit.

"-so every year I visit Gretta's grave on our anniversary." He looked sad, and she'd heard enough this time to piece together where he was going.

"No problem, Arnold. You go and visit your wife. I'll take care of everything here." She smiled at him. It was difficult to think about that level of commitment. Even years after her death they spent time together.

"Make sure you turn-"

"The ovens off, I got it, Arnold." She smiled at him as he gave her an abashed frown.

"You'll have to forgive me, I've never turned the shop over to anyone before, even for a weekend." He bowed his head slightly. "You're a good kid, Marietta." Kid? Kid? Who you calling a kid? "And I trust you." His heavy hand fell on her shoulder, and she almost fell from its weight against her suddenly weak knees. Trust. Who do I trust?


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note:** Hey guys. Here's the update.  
**Disclaimer:** I own them...I own all of them...in an alternate dimension.

Country backroads weren't something that Reid had ever really thought about. He'd always wanted to get where he was going as fast as possible. For some reason, he'd been anxious to start out, but now that he was out of the Ipswich city limits he had no real urge to go any one direction too quickly. Something had crept up from the very tip of his toes, through his legs, up his spinal fluid, and into his brain. He wasn't exactly sure what it was, but it made feel like he needed more time. The Jag was lighter than it had been at the last gas station, but he didn't care about the dust. Something about driving down a long, narrow road, alone as far as the eye could see, something about that was appealing now.

He slammed the car door shut, and stared out at the road in front of him. It struck him then, that he didn't want to go to Boston. He had no idea where to start, no clue as to what she was comfortable living in. The urge to drive overcame him, and he recalled at one time where she'd told him she lived. Something in Illinois, he was sure, a little town, started with an "R". He picked the phone up, checked his checking, and transferred a few thousand from the family account. Illinois was west, and he had little urge to find the fastest route. He just checked the directional system build into the rear view mirror, and pointed the Jag west.

The terrain changed quickly as he drove. Now that he wasn't going toward Boston, he had more of his old urge for speed. The country whipped by him, making the seventy-five he was doing feel faster, most dangerous on the gravel. Little farm houses, quaint in their decoration and color, stood tall alongside the road every few miles. A farmer had pulled off just ahead, and his pick-up was sitting on a culvert. Reid slowed the Jag to a stop, just watching for now. The man was out, kneeling in the field, doing something in the beans. He was almost difficult to spot amongst the crops, growing as tall as they did, and the man hunched over.

Why not be neighborly? He wondered. He left the Jag and waded out into the crop. "Everything alright, Mister?" He called, and the man pivoted on his heel. He was older than Reid had first thought him to be, gray at his temple, and when he stood, the blonde could almost feel the man's hips popping.

"Can I help you son?" He called, voice slightly hoarse.

"Saw you stopped, thought something was wrong." Reid rubbed at the back of his head. Maybe it wasn't polite to check if someone needed help?

"Not from around here abouts, are ya son?" The man called, something like a joke in his voice.

"Not exactly." The man squinted up at the sun, sinking lower and lower by the minute into the horizon. "I'm heading to Illinois, from Ipswich." Reid stood confused when the man told him he didn't know where that was, but he was going the right direction. "Ipswich is in Massachusetts?" Reid nearly asked, as if trying to assure himself that this man did know where his home town was.

"Don't worry, son. You'll figure it out eventually. First time away from home?" The guy asked, and Reid nodded quickly. He wasn't quite sure why he did. It wasn't, of course, his first time away from Ipswich. But it is. Something told him in the back of his head. First time alone, anywhere that someone might ask where you're from. "Well, its getting late, and you won't make a hotel by dark, come on, you can stay up the road." He nodded toward a little gravel and rock road that Reid had missed. A half mile back stood a tall red barn and little white house. "Don't worry." The man continued, "First time away from home everyone gets confused when no one knows where they're from." He gave him a sage old smile and waded his way back toward his pickup.

"Wait-uh." The blonde stumbled over his worlds. It was difficult, talking to someone he didn't know, but seemed to know him.

"Well, come on son." The man said, and stopped, as if remembering something. "I'm Larry, by the way, and the Missus will have dinner waiting." Reid smiled at the way the man's eyes lit up at the promise of food. The pickup pulled out of the culvert and was making its way down the long drive before it occurred to him to wade out of the beans. Why not? He asked himself, and followed in the Jag.

It turned out the "Missus" was a little bent woman, and looked to be in her seventies. She wore a large smile, and didn't discriminate who she slapped with her serving spoon if they tried to eat before grace. Larry had sent him a wink as he popped a stolen piece of steamed broccoli into his mouth.

He talked more at that meal that he'd even spoken to anyone in his life. They wanted to know how old he was, where he was going, why he was going, what his hobbies were, if he had family, what they did...The list just kept going. The Missus, or Loretta-not Lori, he quickly discovered-was never short of words, or food. Stomach engorged and voice sore from speaking so much, he was shown to a shower and a bed. It wasn't his king-sized sleep number, but laying there, on the spring mattress, he felt more at home than he had in years.

The next morning, after a hearty breakfast, and Larry's goodbye-something else to do in the fields-he lingered. For some reason, the blonde didn't want to leave. As a thanks, he asked if there was anything the woman needed before he left. With a smile, she lead him around the house, where he swept away cob webs she couldn't reach, changed sink traps under her watchful eye, and finally, just as the lunch siren echoed from the nearest town, he'd hauled in the vegetables that she'd directed from the garden. He was astounded by the work that was always there to do.

Loretta insisted that he stay for lunch, and after, she'd asked him if he would be willing to help her with a few more chores. He obliged, still not wanting to leave. He learned how to milk the one lonely cow they still had, and to steal eggs from underneath the ten or so chickens in the small wire building out back. By dark, Larry had returned, and didn't seem shocked to fine Reid standing here, hands red and starting to blister, as Loretta tried to convince him that it would be alright to stay another night.

"Non-sense, boy," Larry had interrupted. "You put in a day's work for me, you get paid." He gestured down at the table, where a place setting was waiting for him. With a smile, he continued. "Now sit down, Loretta made too much again." Reid found himself sleeping in that bed again, comfortable between the sheets. The next morning, he ate breakfast, did the outside chores quickly-nursing his hands-and returned back to the house by lunch. After, he insisted that he had to get going, even though something wanted him to stay. Larry had shushed his wife, telling her that the boy had something he had to do. Instead of complaining, Loretta had packed up the last of the dinner from the night before and the remains of lunch in large Tupperware bowls, and wrapped them up in a sack. She'd pushed it into his hands, and kissed his cheek.

The action stopped the blonde short, his mind trying to process the action. His mother kissed him on the cheek, from time to time, but it was always one of those things she did because she thought she had to. He ducked his head, and smiled at the woman, picking her up, and twirling her around, much to her amusement, and thanked the both of them for their hospitality. Larry shook his red hand, and laughed as he winced. "Don't work too much where you're from, do you, boy?" He asked, using yet another pet name. The man hadn't called Reid by his name the entire time he'd been there.

"Life's different, in Ipswich." Reid murmured, rubbing a hand over his neck, embarrassment apparent on his face.

"Well, you did good, thank you." Both men walked out the front door, Reid to the Jag, and the man to his pickup. "You stop back by, on your way back this way, Reid." The man smiled at him, and the blonde felt a swelling of pride at his name, and the invitation back. The pickup door slammed, and the truck disappeared into a cloud of dust. Reid followed that dust trail back to the main road, and drove. He'd only been on the road for two days, but he felt like a different person that climbed into the Jag in his mother's garage. If you asked him, he couldn't tell you if it was the road or leaving Ipswich that made the difference, but he would tell you that it didn't matter.

* * *

Tyler stood at the steps of the Danver's family home. Caleb had called earlier that morning, in some sort of a fit, and demanded that they all meet at the colony house. When he'd been unable to get a hold of Reid, the eldest and asked Tyler to bring him. It took him three hours of looking before he remembered that the blonde had left on some trip. With a sigh, the youngest walked up the cement stairs into the home, and down the winding staircase to the basement. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he hit the landed, meeting Caleb's angry stare with as little reaction as he could.

"Where's Reid?" He asked, arms crossed. Pogue sat back on one of the stone benches, staring off into space.

"Took off two days ago." Tyler filled in. "Said he was taking a trip, don't ask where, I didn't ask." The answer seemed to startle the biker from his perusal of the walls.

"You didn't ask?" Pogue wondered aloud. "You didn't ask?" He grew slightly angry, running a hand through long hair. "Of course you didn't ask." He finally said, looking at the eldest with a glare that was saying more than the youngest knew.

"Why didn't you say when I called?" Caleb asked, tone more even than the anger on his face suggested.

"I forgot." Tyler murmured, sitting on his own bench. "I'm not his keeper." The blue eyed boy propped a foot up in the pedestal in the middle of the room.

"You're not...his keeper." Caleb chewed the words, before he too sat down on his stone bench. "You know, Tyler..." The eldest met the biker's eyes and they made a decision. "We get that you're going through something, but you're been-"

"I don't need a lecture from you too, Caleb." The boy said, easily letting the chastisement roll of his shoulders.

"Your friend just up and leaves town, and you don't even remember he left, and you don't need a lecture?" Pogue stood up quickly, shoulders squared in an aggressive stance. He took two steps before the youngest was on his feet too. They stood for a moment, nose to nose, before the biker's hands came out and knocked him back to the seat."Get over yourself, Simms." He murmured. "Before I have to kick your ass."

"Pogue." Caleb cautioned. It was difficult for him to listen to the youngest's attitude. The Tyler he knew was soft spoken, reserved, and didn't have the balls to square up against Pogue. This Tyler...this one looked like he would square up, and maybe give the biker a run for his money. "He's right, Tyler. You need to pull your head out of your ass before you get hurt." He leveled the youngest with a tired frown. "Either way, that's not what I called you here for." He pulled a thick black bible from a shelf at his back.

"What is this, Bible study?" Tyler asked, sitting up straighter as the eldest pulled newspaper clippings from between the pages. There were twelve of them, organized by date. Pogue looked at the stack, eyes wide.

"I didn't know there were so many." He looked down then, to his feet, "Are they all..."

"No, they're all different." Caleb leveled the biker with a disarming smile, meant to comfort. All it did was burn. "But they're becoming a problem." He counted them out in front of him, sorting them a different way now. "I contacted the editor a few days ago and asked that they stop running the pieces, he agreed, but only for this week. He says they're popular." A grimace colored his face when he finally finished sorting them into three piles. "He picked one pile up and walked over to Reid's seat, dropping four on his seat. He handed Pogue three. He tucked two under his own arm, and gave three to Tyler. Pogue sat down heavily on his own bench, and started reading. Tyler read the top paper, and frowned.

"What is this?" He asked, flipping to the next and skimmed quickly through, his eyes caught in several areas. The next was the same. "What the fuck is this, Caleb?" Blue eyes darted up, panicked, to meet brown.

"She doesn't say anything about the Power, but a few of them are a little too close to drawing suspicion." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Anyone who knew her while she was here will know she's talking about us." The room grew quiet. Tyler was staring blankly at the wall. Caleb was watching Pogue, who was reading the little passages over and over again. He almost felt guilty, giving the long haired son those scribblings. He knew how the boy would take them, and judging from the way his eyes couldn't look away from the scraps of paper, he was right. "Pogue?" He finally asked, but the other son didn't acknowledge the call. Tyler looked over at the boy, and the hard look that had covered his face since he entered the home melted away.

"Hey, Pogue, you alright?" Tyler asked, and his tone shocked him from his reading.

"Yeah, yeah." Pogue said, standing up, but there was a shadow within that hadn't been there before. "We've got to find her, put a stop to this." He crossed his arms across his chest, gripping his elbows. It was a gesture that was meant to be powerful, but the way he held his body it made him look more fragile than he'd ever appeared.

"We'll have to reach out to find her." Caleb cautioned, and the youngest's mask came up again.

"I'm not using, and you shouldn't either. We're all old enough already." He handed the passages back to Caleb haphazardly, and left. The other two stood in the flickering candlelight. Pogue shrugged. He didn't like the idea of reaching out with the power to find her. Her musings about him hadn't been openly angry or even hurtful, but it was the tone and knowledge behind the words that cut him deeper than they should have. Caleb sighed, and rolled his eyes to the heavens.

"Where's Reid." He didn't ask, he just murmured the words, like if he knew what they meant it would solve all of his problems. "We should find him first. He'll be easier to find than she will, and with his power, it will drain us all less." Pogue nodded, and moved toward the stairs. "The paper's printed in Boston." Caleb offered the biker, who stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned on his heel, taking in the information and the eldest.

"Might try and find her the old fashioned way before we use the Power." Pogue said, giving the eldest a look that spoke more than any words he could have used.

"I'll keep calling Reid. He'll pick up eventually. When he comes back, if you haven't found her, we'll all look." Pogue nodded, grateful and afraid at the same time. He walked up the stairs and through the Danver's colony home. He pulled the helmet from his bike into his hands, cradling it a moment before he dialed a number on his phone.

It rang five times before Kate's voice told him that she was out with friends, to leave a message and she'd call back. He hit the little red phone and skimmed through his contact list. He tapped a number, typed out a message, and let it disappear from his phone through the radio-waves. He tugged the helmet over his head and straddled the machine. It roared to life and he let the tires spin, sending mud flying as the bike tore from the drive.

* * *

He was angry, that much was abundantly clear. The Hummer was thrown into drive, and he sped from the Danver's driveway. Nikki's wasn't somewhere he spent too much time anymore. He'd go in, pick a mark at the pool tables, place a few games, win a little money. Use the mystery and charm that came naturally with being a Son to pick up some new girl. Although the thought never really occurred to him, he was being Reid-or at least Reid before she'd left. The blonde son had took it hard, Tyler knew that, but the girl had left of her own free will. He'd told him time and time again that it was better that she was gone. Too many people in on a secret tends to make it common knowledge, and they definitely had secrets to keep.

The harsh crack of the pool balls clashing together drew him from his musings, and he turned back toward the table, where a pretty little brunette was standing. She was familiar looking, and he realized why quickly. Pushing the thought away from his mind, he ignored the girl, and instead directed his attention toward her red headed friend. He won the game-both of them really-and left the bar with the red head under his arm.

* * *

He collected the scraps of paper that he'd dropped on Reid's chair and read them again. A smile colored his face at a particular line-it was well written for the content that it held-and he closed his eyes, trying to imagine the way her voice would have said it.

"For a player, a self proclaimed holder of all women's hearts, he really treasured each and every smile, comment, and look that was sent his way. It was almost as if his heart was a sponge, soaking up any love that anyone was willing to offer. I used to wonder if he really was a Goldfish, gaping and suffocating above the water. Then, when someone was around to love him, he could breathe."

He smiled at the thought and took his phone from his back pocket. Where ever the boy went, Caleb was sure that he was behaving. Reid hadn't used the power since that day with Chase, and if Caleb was being completely honest with himself, he was handling ascension far better than the rest of the group. He called the blonde, and left yet another message, begging the man to call him back.

He tucked the passages back into the Bible. He hadn't reread any of the pieces about himself for several reasons. First, he knew that no matter how many times he read them, it wouldn't change the content, and second, they made him miss her. He shook his head. There was no real reason to miss the girl. Sarah and Kate had made closer friends than he had, and Reid was closer yet. But he did. He missed the way she put Tyler in his place more than anything lately. A sigh later he was calling his girlfriend. He needed the forget about life for a while, and Sarah was usually more than willing to oblige.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hey guys. Not so many reviews last time around, but I suppose I deserved that one. Honestly, at this point in time, this is completely written. The faster I get reviews, the faster I'm going to update. If I don't think people are interested/haven't had time to read this, I'm not going to post another chapter. I reached the normal number of hits on the last chapter, so here you got another chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Notes: It has been a long time since I've published anything on EV. There have been changes in my life and in the lives of those around me. There have been changes in my audience, if that even still exists. I had this written months upon months ago. The entire piece is finished, except for the epilogue, which will clear up any confusion from the last chapter, but that is where I would like a bit of help, if anyone is still listening. I don't know what I want Zee to do yet. Zee doesn't even know, and that's saying something. If you have an opinion on her long run life, please voice it.

* * *

Pogue found himself in Boston more quickly than he'd ever thought he would. That was what happens, he supposed, when you sped. The city was large, that was for sure, with more apartment buildings and businesses than he cared to know about. The paper had been Boston based, he remembered, but didn't know the name. He could call Caleb, he supposed, but something in the back of his mind told him that he had to do this on his own. He checked his phone, and was disappointed when he found nothing. Slipping the helmet off, and standing the bike securely, he crossed the short bit of sidewalk to a pay-phone. Hanging, just there underneath, was a phonebook.

He skimmed through the business section, and when he finally found the paper's in Boston, he felt something settle in his stomach, heavy like a stone. Four larger businesses, and nearly ten smaller more residential ones. He resolved himself to checking the larger ones first, and tore the page from the book. A passing woman, dressed to the nine's in a long fur coat shot him a dirty look and glanced down at the phonebook. She didn't say anything as he mounted the bike again and merged back into traffic.

The first paper he walked into told him that they did not print "gossip columns" and that he had better just leave. The second was all gossip columns. The third had closed down two weeks prior. The fourth didn't have anyone working for the paper under her name. He set about to the little local papers, and had just as much luck. Angry and annoyed that evidently one of the businesses didn't know their employees, he parked his bike at a local hotel and fell asleep staring at the bright neon red of his alarm clock.

* * *

Illinois was useless, he'd decided. State maps also. He picked through the list of towns that began with the letter "R" on the large state map at the rest stop. He'd be years searching them all for one little home town. _Little?_ He thought, looking down the list. He was sure she'd said it was tiny, less than five hundred people. Now he went through the list again, mentally highlighting the ones that the map claimed had less than five hundred. There were six. He could handle six. The telephone book at the pay-phone narrowed it even further. There were two towns with anyone with the last name of Henly. For a moment he debated calling. He could call, but that might tip her off if she was trying to hide from them.

With a flip of the wrist, his phone was open and one of the numbers had been dialed and was ringing. "Ya-lo." Came the slurred speech of a man. Reid froze a moment. It was two in the afternoon, and if this guy was already drinking..."Zebra?" He asked when Reid didn't respond, and that quickly caught his attention. "Zebra, if its you, I'm not mad, just come home, okay?" The man was rambling now, and Reid hung the phone up quickly. _Well,_ he thought to himself. _Jackpot._ He didn't feel like he'd won anything though, and after consulting the map one more time, he climbed back into the Jag and took the closest interstate that ran through the area.

* * *

Marietta turned the key in the front lock to the bakery, and she would be lying if she told anyone that she wasn't completely and totally astounded that it had actually opened. She had to give the old guy credit, he was up this early every morning to start the ovens. She quickly rolled up the blinds, started the ovens, and put the first batch of pastries in to bake. It wasn't a particularly difficult morning, but when she looked at the clock and realized that the shop would need to be opened only five minutes after the timer went off, she busied herself with moping the floors and pulling chairs off of tables. The day old pastries were set in a separate cabinet with discounted prices, and the black coffee was put on to brew.

Just as she flipped the sign in the window to open, the timer went off, and she pulled the new baked goods from the oven. _Oh. Oh god. And I thought walking in with all of this food was orgasmic._ She sniffed deeper and sighed. The bell out front chimed, and she cocked her head slightly to the side. No one was here this early. She carried one of the drawers with her, and slid it into the display case, still hot. "Hey, what can I get you?" She called over the counter, and stood up to find the college girl, folder tucked under her arm this morning.

"I'm sorry." She whispered, holding the folder out in front of her. "I'm really sorry, but they were there, and you weren't going to do anything with them."

"What are you..." Mar drifted off, catching on to a train of thought she wished she hadn't. _Fucking bitch. I will kill you. I swear to all that is holy, I will jump this counter and throttle you to death. _

"These." She set them down on the counter and turned quickly, leaving out the front door before Zee could do as she'd mentally threatened. Almost fearfully, she picked the folder up, and as the bell rang again, she stuffed it under the counter. There would be time later. She served the man his black coffee and muffin quickly, but was soon too caught up in the store to open the folder. Three hours later, she found herself quickly turning her cell phone on, just to check if her father had tried calling again. She'd left him a message, a few weeks ago, telling him she was alright, and that she needed to work some things out. He hadn't taken that too well, and had started calling her on almost an hourly basis.

There was the usual text message from her younger sister, who had insisted on pretending like she was just still at school. If she was being honest with herself, she liked those messages the best. They made her feel normal again. Her brother hadn't so much as sent her a text once since she left. _He's angry. Can't blame him. _There was the voicemails from her father, and then there was something she hadn't really expected. It was simple enough, and was only three words long.

**_I'm so sorry._**

_They're sorry? He's sorry? He should be sorry that no good, rotten, son of a-What's he sorry for? _

She almost dropped the phone in her struggles to save the folder from under the counter. There, were her original pieces, organized neatly in the folder The ones that had been printed had a copy of the newspaper clipping stabled to them. She flipped through them quickly, until her fingers stuck over one that she had sincerely hoped hadn't been printed. There, just in the corner of the piece was a newspaper clipping, neatly snipped from the paper and stapled, forcing her to accept that he'd read it. He knew. _Oh, god, I'm sorry. _She thought, but knew that it didn't mean anything. It wouldn't because he couldn't hear it. A new patron came in, and ordered something that actually took a moment to prepare. So, with shaking hands she placed the articles and her phone back under the counter, and went about making his drink. He thanked her, and paid, leaving quickly.

_What am I supposed to do? I can't just let him think-but I didn't mean to. Its that girl's fault, why do I have to do anything about it? I didn't publish it. _**_No, but you wrote it._** Something in the back of her mind told her. She resolved to go home quickly that night after closing, and read what exactly the girl had deemed publishable. Hopefully it wasn't all what she'd written angry. Maybe the girl just picked out that one piece. Maybe she put in something Zee'd written about how easy it was, being with all of them. Maybe something about how confusing it was.

She had the world's worst luck, she was sure. She sat on her bed, eyes scanning each and every word that that _little girl_ had made them see. She hadn't meant for them to ever see that. She didn't want to ever make them want to apologize. She knew why they did it. She knew, but it didn't make it not hurt. Didn't make these lines on her skin hurt any less than they did. Didn't make her miss them any less. _Son of a-_

She took another swig from the bottle that lay next to her. She'd never been a drinker, but after the first two clippings, she'd left and found a bum who was willing to go into the liquor store and buy her a bottle of Jack Daniels for the change. As the liquor burned on its first trip down, she'd wondered why Reid had gone to all the trouble to procure it in the past. It was vile, terrible, and made her stomach burn. After the third swig, she started thinking that maybe she understood. Maybe she got why he drowned himself in the dark liquid. Half the bottle later, she was crying, mumbling to herself, and begging someone that wasn't there to just leave her alone. The next morning, she woke to her alarm clock still slightly tipsy, but went about her morning ritual, completely unaware of anything she'd done after she started drinking the night before.

* * *

Caleb let the phone in his hand ring through to voicemail for the fifth time in the last two days. "Yeah, Reid, I really need you to call me back. Something's up, and we need you back here. Just, just call alright?" He cut the call and pocketed the phone. With a sigh he walked back into the small diner that he had taken Sarah to for lunch. She was sitting at a table in the back, smile on her face, as she watched him enter the building again. He couldn't help but smile back. This is what you're going to be doing the rest of your life. He told himself, and he felt something warm in his chest grow larger. She's your future.

"No luck?" She asked when he sat back down. He shook his head and she sent him a little frown, that one where her forehead got this little crease in the middle.

"No, but its Reid. He'll be here." Caleb sipped at the cup of coffee at his setting and reached across the table, taking her hand almost on instinct. She gave him a little squeeze back, and he was sure that he could go his entire life without using the Power ever again as long as she was there, waiting for him at the end of each day.

"Have you heard from Pogue?" She asked next, and her concern for his brothers made him smile. "Kate's upset." She murmured, but that went without saying. It seemed that the brunette was always upset lately.

"No, but he's fine. Pogue can take care of himself, and this is something he needs to work through on his own." The dark haired son gave her hand one last squeeze before their food was set in front of them. He blatantly ignored the statement about Kate. He respected Pogue's decision to be with the girl, but she was far too much to deal with for an extended period of time.

"Must have shook him up pretty badly." Sarah kept up the conversation where it would have otherwise died, and for that he was grateful.

"He pretends that nothing bothers him," Caleb started, swallowing a fry, and washing it down quickly. "But when he thinks he's done something to hurt the people he cares about, he takes it hard." He bit into the sandwich on his plate and waited for the inevitable.

"What-" she considered her words for a moment. "What did she write?" The blonde ducked her head, unsure as to if she should have asked or not. Caleb had been minimal with the details about Chase's death and subsequent banishing to hell, but she knew that Zee knew much more about it than she did.

"Just that she knew." Caleb debated about telling her the next part. "And she felt it." He sipped his coffee, appetite going stagnant.

"She felt it?" Sarah asked, blue eyes wide. She hadn't really been friends with the girl. She wasn't very social, and had been both rude and crass the last few times she'd talked to the girl. Caleb watched, trying to pinpoint the emotions on his girlfriend's face, and was as useless as ever at figuring out what she was thinking.

"Yes. There was a measure of physical contact that was required for the ritual." Caleb dropped his voice now. "Symbols, patterns. Apparently she felt them too." He smiled at her. "Don't worry about it. It wasn't all bad." He tried to lighten the mood. "She wrote about you and Kate a bit." Sarah's face brightened, and her eyes asked what he knew she wanted to. He slipped the little clipping from his billfold and slid it across the table to her. He'd read it two or three times already. It was funny, her musings on the night she went to control the "kidnapper" as she'd called him. What was even more funny was the fact that she was low to admit to getting her ass kicked.

Sarah laughed, smiling her way through the clipping, before looked up and handing it back. "She did that?" She asked, smile fading slightly. She felt badly, she supposed. The girl had gone out to defend her honor when she didn't really even know her.

"Marietta was funny that way, I suppose." Caleb picked his sandwich up yet again, and for a moment, wondered what he'd done to capture the girl sitting across from him. She took everything in stride, and if he was honest with himself, he was still waiting for her to run screaming from the room every time he walked into it. _She hasn't yet._ He reminded himself. _And the worst is gone_. He smiled across the table again, and this time, Sarah let the silence grow as they ate their lunch.

* * *

Reid listened to his voicemail as he pulled into the little town. It had taken him three hours to get far enough west, and then another two to actually find the God forsaken thing. After the fourth voicemail from Caleb, he gave up and just called the older boy.

"Hello?" He got from the other line. He seemed relieved.

"Hey Caleb, what's up? I told Baby Boy I was heading out of town for a while." He scratched at his nose as he pulled into a small parking lot just off the side of the highway where a large playground and softball diamond sat.

"Yeah, Tyler's being-"

"He's an ass. Has been for a while, but that doesn't change anything." Reid cut the fearless leader off at another rant.

"We've got a problem." Caleb finally picked up the conversation again. "Marietta's in Boston, and she's writing." Caleb paused to let the information sink in.

"I know." Reid replied, slightly disappointment that his surprise was spoiled.

"You know?" Caleb asked, and chuckled. "Of course you know." He sighed. "Pogue went to Boston. If you're there, you might give him a call and meet up with him. If you can't find her on foot, we're going to look with the power."

"Just give me a week. I'll find her." Reid reasoned, thinking about pulling out of the town immediately and just driving until he saw the ocean again. He wanted to find her first. That was the entire point in going alone.

"Where are you?" Caleb finally asked.

"Illinois." He replied, and sighed into the phone. "Listen, Boston's huge, and I wasn't ready to find her. I figured I'd check out her home town, get a feel for where she'd be comfortable. I'll be back in Boston in two days, but I need to do this the hard way, Caleb." The eldest sighed back at him.

"Don't you always do things the hard way?" He asked with laughter in his voice. When Reid didn't respond he continued. "I'm proud of you, for not using. Take your time. We'll hold off until you're back."

"Thanks, Caleb." Reid said before flipping the phone shut. He put the car back into drove and drove up and down the two main streets in the town. It was four blocks wide and about fourteen long. He chuckled as he took in the town. He could see her here, just sitting under one of these trees, notebook in hand, or better yet, on the diamond, concentration clear on her face. He'd seen her house before, in pictures, and as he drove up and down the main drag once more, he spotted it. There was a younger girl out from, maybe fifteen. He pulled over and rolled the window down. The girl left her swing and walked toward the road. He gave her his best smile, and he recognized the cautious look in her eyes.

"I'm Reid, and I'm a friend of Zee's. Does she live here?" The girl's face lit up, and she nodded. For a moment, he thought she was going to tell him she was inside, but he quickly realized that was not the case.

"Zebra's at school, but she still lives here." The girl smiled wide, but it was fake, he could tell.

"School's out for the summer." Reid reminded, and the girl frowned.

"I know, but Dad's so upset, I think maybe she has to take summer school." The girl was being obtuse on purpose, and it was getting annoying.

"She left school." He supplied. "I'm trying to find her. Can you tell me where she usually hung out here?" The girl's face sobered slightly.

"She worked at the coffee shop uptown." The girl dropped her head. "She played softball on the diamond, and sometimes she'd walk out into the woods to the north of town and write." She paused. "If you find her, send her home." Her eyes were angry when she looked back up, and it was uncanny the resemblance they shared. "You had your chance, Axel says its your fault, and I want my sister back." He nodded, mouth going slightly dry at the accusation. He couldn't really say anything back, and the town was starting to make him feel uneasy. It was too small, with too many faces that might have fingers to point. He nodded again and rolled the window up, turning around in their driveway, and leaving back the way he came.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: I had intended to post this a few days ago, but I am traveling for work so it was delayed. I hope you enjoy. **

When Pogue woke up in the hotel, he stretched slowly, before rolling over and checking his cell phone. It blinked angrily at him in the dark of the room. _Apparently_, he mused, _Kate was busy last night._ He thumbed quickly through the thirty odd text messages that she'd sent him. They ranged in their entertainment value as well as the feeling behind them. The first few were angry, then worried, then anger set back in again. When she'd finished texting him, her last comment had made him laugh. When anger and worry didn't the reaction she'd wanted, apparently she'd thought it a good course of action to threaten. If she was serious in her last text, they were no longer dating. He responded quickly, fingers still sleepy.

He forced himself from bed and showered quickly. The continental breakfast closed in an hour, and he didn't want to miss stale cereal and possibly bad milk. Thirty minutes later he was pleasantly surprised to find a waffle maker and three kinds of juice. Belly full, he thought he had the courage to face down the twelve different voicemails in his inbox. The first two were easy enough. One was his mother, asking him how his day had gone. The second was a college, calling about his tuition payment. He sighed at that. He didn't want to attend Brown...or Yale, Stanford, or Harvard. He wanted to work at the shop, but that wasn't an option, or so his mother kept telling him.

The third through eleventh were from Kate, and he quickly deleted them. He'd already run her emotional gamut through the text messages, and he didn't need to do it again. The last one he almost deleted. The voice was feminine and crying. Normally, when he got this type of message it was Kate, feeling bad about the previous messages. He listened a moment too long though, and actually heard the words. It wasn't Kate. The content was similar. She was crying, telling him she was so sorry, that she hadn't meant what she wrote. That she felt terrible. He stared at the phone after the message finished, and quickly replayed it. There was one difference between the two types of messages. The girl on the other end of the line was crying because she was sorry. Kate cried because she was afraid of what she might lose.

He sat there, at the little table, and stared at the phone, unsure as to what to do or say. He tried calling the number back, but was quickly rewarded with a voicemail account. No message was left, it seemed tacky, and too impersonal. If the manic-depressive voicemail did anything, it affirmed the fact that she wasn't working for any of the papers. She'd said she hadn't published them, that some girl did it for her. He sighed and resolved himself to finding the paper, then the girl, and finally, Mar.

* * *

The highway passed under the tires of the Jag much more quickly than it had on the opposite direction. The sun was just setting as he pulled up the loose gravel drive to the old farm house. The little farm house window was open, and he could almost feel the breeze flowing freely into the kitchen. He cut the engine and by the time he'd opened the car door, Larry was standing outside on the three little cement steps, holding the door open for him. The old man didn't say a word until Reid was almost on top of him.

"D'ya find what you were looking for in Illinois?" The man asked with a smile, already knowing the answer in that sage old way that some people seemed to know things.

"It's back in Boston." He said, walking through to the kitchen and hugging the little old woman who sat waiting for him. She had set a third place setting at the table when she saw the Jag pull into the lane, and there was a steaming pile of food waiting for him. Larry stood in the doorway still, a small grim smile on his face.

"What you're usually looking for is back home, it just takes most longer to realize." Reid's mood soured slightly at that comment, but the food quickly fixed it. He'd stay here forever, he realized, if he could. Life was easy, simple, but hard at the same time. There would be so much to learn, he knew, but he could really live out here. Night fell, and the bed was still as he'd left it. The sheets smelled like fabric softener and wind, lulling him to sleep.

* * *

Turns out if you want to get any good solid information, the way to play the game was one of two hands. He could flex his muscles, drop his chin just so, and be the prefect picture of threatening, or he could write a check. The Parry's were a wealthy family, but he didn't plan on making the kind of money his father had before him. After he made that decision, it wasn't difficult to intimidate the owner of one of the local Boston papers into telling him that a girl by that name had been hired to write for the paper, but that she'd quit almost a month ago after not so much as one column. Another young girl had come in a week after, with a folder full of just exactly what the paper had been looking for, and they had printed them in place of her column.

The girl's name was-of course-confidential, choosing only to be known by a nom de plume. Pogue had done more muscle flexing and found out that she was a little girl, college aged, and quite easy on the eyes. He couldn't exactly follow around every girl in Boston that matched the description, but he could pop his jaw back and forth and earn himself a hair color, eye color, and a description of the mo-ped that she always parked in front of the building when she came in once a week. _Jackpot_.

He sat outside the little paper for the next three hours, and felt like a police officer on stake out. In the fourth hour, he really felt like an officer on steak out, he was bored, sore, and about to fall asleep. The girl was college aged, he could take a drive through the local university parking lots. It would still be looking, but he wouldn't be sore bored. Feeling liberated he did just that, and found that while he thought there couldn't be that many hot pink moped's in Boston, he was wrong. There were seven that he counted on all of the campus's in the area. There was no way he could watch all of them. Annoyed he went back to the hotel and slept off the day's anxiety on a hard mattress.

* * *

Caleb hadn't seen Tyler since Pogue had left three days ago. In fact, he hadn't heard from any of the other sons in two days. It had been good, hearing from Reid, knowing he was alright. Although, he doubted that the angry brunette beating on his front door was looking for the blonde. He sat there, watching the door, and thinking about not answering it. He really could, just go back, sit in his living room, and keep the television on low until she left. He could.

"I know you're in there, Caleb, the car's outside." _Shit._ He padded barefoot to the door and threw it open, the picture of sleepy wrath. "Jesus! Caleb, where's Pogue?" She recovered from her scare quickly enough, he mused as he stared down at her with groggy eyes.

"I haven't seen him." He started to shut the door, but she stuck a foot in it quickly.

"Nuh-uh, no Caleb, you know where he is, now tell me." He opened the door again, and faced her down. She really was gorgeous, he mused, with her dark hair, eyes and skin, but she was difficult to find attractive with her attitude and jealousy.

"He's in Boston looking for Marietta." He decided that honesty was the quickest way to get her out of his morning.

"He's what?" She said, as if she hadn't heard him loud and clear. "Oh, he better answer this time." She turned and marched away from his door, and he closed it in relief. "And if he calls, you Caleb, tell him to get his ass back here!" She yelled through the door, and he leaned heavily against the closed door. Life was hard, he decided, when you were Kate's boyfriend. For now, he was Sarah's boyfriend, and he was tired. Life was easy, he thought as he drifted back to sleep, when Sarah Wenham was your girlfriend.

* * *

The Cafe had closed later that night than she had planned, but she couldn't bring herself to close the doors on the second to last night she was to be in charge. Running something felt good, being in charge, knowing exactly what she wanted to do and when. It didn't really matter, she decided as she locked the doors. The cafe was Arnold's and maybe, someday she'd have something that was hers. She checked her phone as she walked back to her apartment, and found that she'd missed a call from none other than Pogue Parry. Making decisions was harder than she would have thought them to be when it came to calling him back or not.

She finally decided upon waiting until the morning. She would feel better in the morning, and more capable of making a judgement that was best for all involved. It was odd that he was the one calling, she hadn't had any real close relations with the biker, and had kept her distance since she saw the way Kate had staked her claim that day in the cafeteria. Although, she decided, more had been said unfairly in her anger and pain about the long haired son than about the others. She wondered why that had been. She hadn't set out to write about any one of them, she just set pen to paper and let her fingers do the work.

It was proving more and more difficult to sleep three hours later. She'd brushed her teeth...twice, combed her hair, decided it was too greasy, showered, dried her hair, brushed her teeth...again, and had finally just sat down on the bed in hopes that a ceiling tile would fall on her head and knock her unconscious. When that didn't happen she decided that her guilt was just going to be entirely too much for her to handle.

She messed with the phone at first, just staring at it. _Stupid communication device, why can't you just stop staring at me. Just, stop it! _ She threw the phone across the room where it collided with the wall and made a sickening thud as it broke open.

_No! I didn't mean it! I take it back, come back to life! Breathe damn it breathe!_ Once the battery was snapped back into place the tiny, little loading bar appeared, signaling the start of the phone. She started the phone, sat it on the night stand, and forced herself to ignore it for the remainder of the night. When her alarm went off the next morning she was still staring at the phone, as if it might just hold all the answers to all life's questions.

With a begrudging pace, she set about getting ready for her last day of complete freedom in the shop. Arnold had given her a taste of something when he'd turned over the keys, and she wasn't sure exactly how, but she knew it wasn't going to be the last time she felt a sense of accomplishment and ownership. As she stared in the mirror, applying make-up to the now silver sworls at her jaw and across the bridge of her nose, she remembered the telephone. With the time she usually used to shower, she fidgeted with the device, pulling up the contact list only to close it again. There were a few names on that list that she'd like to call, just to hear their voice, but that would be a weakness, a weakness that they would know as soon as they saw her number fly across the screen.

_You could call from a payphone_. Something in the back of her mind suggested. No. That would be weak...and pathetic...and...and wrong...

_This is so wrong. _She told herself as she listened to the other line ring. She would just call, hear his voice, and then hang up. Like so many phone calls..._like so many stalkers._ She chided herself, waiting out in front of the bakery. Three rings in she thought she'd lucked out, but the groggy "Hello" that came across the line stopped her heart. He sounded older, more mature somehow. _That's what happens in six and a half months, you idiot._ "Hello?" He said again, this time more awake, more demanding. She should drop the receiver, she told herself, but when she told her muscles to do it, something else entirely happened.

"Hello, Reid." Her voice box choked out, and she froze at the sound.

"Who's this?" He asked, voice still slightly sleepy. It was early, she realized when the overhead street light still flickered in the dawn. She should have answered, she realized, but couldn't bring herself to do it as she slammed the phone down onto the receiver.

The rest of the day she forced herself to ignore the pay phone outside of the bakery. She should call Pogue, tell him she was sorry, that she didn't mean it, and that the clippings would stop. He'd tried to contact her, after all, and he deserved it. Twelve long hours after the first phone call, she found herself making a second. The phone rang only once before he picked up, and this time, it wasn't sleepy ramblings on the other line.

"I told you, Kate, I need a few days. So get the fuck over it already!" A chuckle caught deep in her chest. He'd never spoken to the other girl like that in her presence before, and the simple fact that there was trouble in paradise was also slightly gratifying. Kate had always been a bit too big for her own skin. He continued on, ranting more about how she hadn't given him five minutes peace since he'd left. A slightly evil idea worked its way into her mind, and when he paused to take a breath, she spoke quickly.

"I'm sorry, Pogue, for everything, and I won't call again." She set the receiver down with a sense of accomplishment. She'd told the boy what she'd wanted to tell him, got it off her chest, and he was none the wiser...somehow when she went to sleep that night, she felt like a cheater.

* * *

Reid Garwin had never been a light sleeper, and it had never been difficult for him to get back to sleep once woken, but something about the phone call bothered him. Whoever it was had known who they'd called. They'd said his name. Maybe an old girlfriend? He wondered, thinking on the possibility for a little bit longer. Yeah, there had been girls that just couldn't take no for an answer. Then again, he hadn't been with a girl in almost a year...who could hold a grudge that long without making a move sooner? The voice had been familiar enough, that much was sure, but something about the voice and the words were off. Wrong. He sighed and glanced at the alarm clock next to the bed. It was time to be awake, and helping Loretta with chores. He sighed, made the bed, showered, and joined the elderly woman out in the garden.

"Have a nice conversation?" She asked when he joined her, ever the talker. "I don't mean to pry, but I heard your telephone ring this morning." She continued with her banter. Reid supplied the appropriate amount of conversation and for the first time since he'd met the woman almost felt wrong talking to her. He didn't know who'd called, and it bothered him.

* * *

Pogue shut his cell phone as the line went dead. That was entirely too easy, he mused as he straddled his bike in the parking lot across from the paper. Kate was never one to just give up. He questioned the sanity in calling her back before he decided that he really didn't care the whys or hows, he was just grateful for the breath of fresh air that she promised.

Thirty minutes later when a pink mo-ped pulled in front of the newspaper, his phone rang again. It was Kate, angry and fuming. Of course, he thought, of course she hadn't meant it. When he accused her of lying, she'd gotten angry, told him she'd said no such thing, and hung up on him. Well, he thought, as the woman mounted her mo-ped and pulled out into traffic, there was no sense trying to make heads or tails of her now. He had work to do. It was getting dark, and following the little machine would be harder if he didn't get moving.

* * *

Reid said his goodbyes just after lunch, promising to visit again soon, and to be back in a few weeks to learn about harvesting. Larry had promised him a job through the summer if he could learn how to use the machinery and was willing to do it. While school was staring him down like a daunting cloud, he agreed, ignoring the fact that if he was in the middle of BFE, he wasn't at a university.

The highway passed much more quickly this time around, he discovered, as less than eight hours later he found himself pulling into South Boston. With little to no direction as to where he was actually going, Reid parked the Jag in a hotel parking lot, just off of the main drag from Ipswich. The Ducati in the lot looked vaguely familiar, but he was tired, and sleep was calling. That night, he missed the crappy spring mattress more than ever.

* * *

Pogue slept well through the night...that was after he turned his phone to silent. Kate had become a little...a little more than she normally was. That was the only way he knew how to explain it. She knew where he was, what he was doing, how long he expected to be gone, and that he was alive, but she still called every thirty minutes to scream at him about not being there for some new, life altering event.

"Ugh." He groaned, stretching like too large a cat in too small a cage before showering and pulling on his leather jacket. The morning was chilly, and it made the blood thrum in his veins. There, just across the lot from his Ducati, was a familiar looking silver Jag, but for the life of him, he couldn't place it. With one last look at the vehicle, he straddled his own machine, slid the helmet over his head, and pulled form the lot.

When he pulled into the campus parking lot, he was grateful that the girl wasn't an early riser. There, in the space it had been the night before, the little pink machine sat, waiting for its owner. He just sat there for a while, in the chill of the morning air, thinking about life and what he was going to do when he went back home. For some reason he really couldn't think about what he was going to do in the next couple days. He hadn't really thought about what he'd say when he found the girl. He was angry, that much was for sure. She had taken something that he hadn't even meant to do, and turned it against him, but then again...

He shook the thought from his head. He couldn't be angry with the girl. It had been his fingers that made those marks, and it was his fault that she felt them. He was so caught up in the though that he almost missed the slip of a girl that walked toward the machine. As it was, he had to step in front of the miniature version of his bike, and brace his hands against the handle bars.

It was kinda foolish, he finally decided, to just jump in front of the bike, but it had gotten him the answers that he was looking for. The girl had thought he was a friend of Marietta's, and had told her where to find him easily enough, though how the girl got away with calling her Mary, he'd never know. Pogue still remembered the thump to the shoulder he'd gotten when he'd actually called her that on accident one day. He'd been kind of disappointed when the girl confirmed what Marietta had told him in the voicemail. Some part of him hoped that it had been her way of keeping hold of them. That by writing about them, and publishing it, she was secretly talking to them, even if they never found out about the pieces. Now, it was clear that she hadn't meant them to ever see a word of it. Though, if anything, it made his search shorter. The girl had gone as far as to give him an exact street address and directions to the little cafe, which, the girl told him, had been open since 5 am, and was run by a man named Arnold.

Thirty minutes later, Pogue found himself feeling something he'd never quite felt before. Pogue Parry, muscled up, bad ass biker, was nervous. The Cafe was small really, for something in Boston, but it was cute, and Pogue was low to use that term. There just wasn't another word to describe it. It was old fashioned, with stained glass windows and an iron gate that sat out front on the sidewalk. There were window boxes, full of flowers that had died in the chill of the fall.

He sat there for a while, leaned up against the bike, watching people walk in and out, coffee and pastries in hand. They seemed happier for the coffee, and he briefly debated walking in and waiting in line to order. The solid influx of people had him waiting though. He wanted to be able to talk to the girl, and if that meant waiting an hour until rush hour was over, and people were well on their way to work, that was fine by him. He leaned further against the cycle at his back and started debating how he was going to approach the girl. She couldn't run anymore, that was for sure. He wasn't about to have looked for her only to have her run. She had her job to consider now too. Maybe an apartment. Something close, he imagined, as the girl hadn't had a car when she left, and life was expensive on your own, especially on barista's salary.

His eyes scanned the surrounding buildings. There were a few that looked to have apartments above them, and he silently guessed which one he could see her in. There was one, fairly small and above a little pizzeria, that had a balcony. He could see her there, sitting out and watching the people go by, writing about them, or imagining what they might be talking about. A few of the apartments he secretly hoped she didn't live in. They either appeared to be above more shady buildings, and one, just there, on the corner, didn't have a fire escape.


End file.
